


Wolf Moon (in Another Reality)

by crushing83



Series: Teen Wolf in Another Reality [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Damaged Derek Hale, Demisexual Stiles Stilinski, Derek trying to teach Stiles how to be a werewolf, Everyone tries, Gen, I have no idea what I'm doing, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Protective Derek, Scott is suspicious, Season 01 AU, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Stilinski Gets Bitten Instead of Scott McCall, Stiles is less combative than Scott, Stiles learning how to be a werewolf, ace spectrum Stiles Stilinksi, again i have no idea what i'm doing, asexual spectrum Stiles Stilinski, but this idea wouldn't leave my brain alone, may become Sterek if I continue into a series, may turn into a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 08:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17422271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushing83/pseuds/crushing83
Summary: A retelling of the first chapter in the Teen Wolf story, set in a world where Stiles goes into the woods by himself to look for the rest of Laura Hale's remains.The creature crouched down, their gnarled and clawed hands sinking into the dirt. Stiles cursed his curiosity, his sense of adventure, and his complete lack of self-preservation. He prayed to any deity in existence to save his father the trauma of having to identify his mangled body in the county morgue. He looked around wildly for a weapon, finding a couple of rocks and a stick; he picked up the rocks and sucked in a deep, unsteady breath while rising to a standing position.The first rock missed its target by a mile. The creature snorted.Were they amused? Were they sentient, in a human way?Stiles was so far out of his wheelhouse. Nothing on the Discovery Channel or SyFy had prepared him for that moment.





	Wolf Moon (in Another Reality)

**Author's Note:**

> I've said it in the tags twice, and I'm going to say it here: I have no idea what I'm doing. I know it's an unpopular opinion, but I've had some issues with Scott over the run of the show, and this idea of Stiles being bitten instead sort of latched into my brain as a result of that. Sometimes, I think that Stiles might have been less combative (although, I know he's had his issues with Derek, too) and more curious, and I also think that less fighting and resistance might have made Derek a bit more willing to fork over useful information. With Stiles being the teen wolf, that frees up other characters (like Scott) to pursue other goals and wind up in other conflicts, and I've been thinking a bit about how that could build in a second story (and beyond). So, there could be more if this story isn't met with an angry mob. 
> 
> It's not meant to be a re-telling in the exact same universe, though. (And I sort of have a plan for that, tooooo. ::eyebrow waggle::) I've made some changes, like making Stiles demisexual, so in my head it is a similar story with a similar mythology, but is maybe occurring one or two realities over from the one we all watched. 
> 
> Thanks in advance for reading! I hope you enjoy it :)

"Hold on. The witness found half a bod---"

Stiles looked up when his father stopped talking mid-sentence. As he usually did, when the gruesome details registered _after_ he started talking, John stood up from the kitchen table and moved towards the living room. 

As he usually did, when John tried to keep details from him, Stiles slipped out of his chair and moved towards the back of the kitchen, where he'd discovered it was easiest to hear into the other room. 

He heard enough to know the body---or the half of body---was in the forest, somewhere in the nature preserve within a _mumble-mumble_ feet radius of the charred remains of the Hale family home. He heard a few more broken sentences to suggest that the Sheriff and his deputies would be looking for the other half of the body. Instead of thoughts of concern or fear, Stiles first impulse was to help, to get involved. He spent time out there, when the fantasy of solving the murders had been an escape from not-so-creative bullying and a strained relationship with his father, and he believed he could get there quickly and without detection if he took the back road that he was sure the Hales once used as their way in and out of town. He believed he could help them find the rest of the body, which would help them with identifying the victim (and hopefully the killer). 

He could do it. 

But, should he do it alone? 

He took his seat again, in front of his dwindling meal. At that thought, at the idea of asking for help in his mission, he felt compelled to go to Scott---his best friend and partner in crime---and convince him to join in the hunt for clues (and body parts). The fact that Scott's home was in the opposite direction of the preserve, though, kept him in place. 

Stiles pulled out his phone and typed a brief message. _Dude. Half a body found in woods. Want to go on an adventure?_

_hell no. goin 2 bed early. practice 2moro. gonna make 1ststring!!_ was the reply Scott sent back, five minutes later and well after John rejoined Stiles in the kitchen. 

"You should get going," Stiles said when the fatherly stare started turning into the law enforcement stare. "Body parts to find, crimes to solve, bad guys to---" 

"Okay, okay," John interrupted. "Just promise me you're going to stay here." 

Stiles nodded. "Stay here, finish this deliciousness, and then binge-watch something until I fall asleep. I may or may not do some breakfast prep, too." 

"Pancakes?" John asked. 

With a smile, Stiles said, "Maybe. With fruit instead of syrup." 

"Throw in a bit of butter and you have a deal." 

"Done," Stiles agreed. 

As if John thought Stiles agreed too quickly, he approached Stiles with a suspicious look on his face. "What's the catch?" John asked. 

"No catch," Stiles replied. To keep his father unaware of his intentions, he added, "Of course, there may be a salad or stir fry in your near-future, too, depending on how much butter." 

John groaned. "You're impossible." 

"Yep. I know. Best son ever." 

His confident snark masked the doubt that still lingered, after all the time that passed since his mother's death and his father's near-meltdown. They'd smoothed over so much, repaired their relationship as best as they could, but there were always doubts in the back of Stiles' mind that suggested John's love was a lie or something conditional. 

John's hand was steady on Stiles' shoulder when it landed there. He squeezed gently. 

"You are," John whispered. "Be good, keep the doors locked, and I'll see you in the morning. For pancakes! I won't be late!" 

Stiles chuckled at John's retreating back. 

He saw he had one more message from Scott--- _no. UR not a cop._ \---to which he replied with a roll of his eyes and a quick message of agreement. It was better that Scott didn't know; Scott couldn't lie to save his own ass, let alone Stiles' (much cuter) behind if he got caught or suspected of what he was planning on doing. 

Once John's fifteen minute 'I forgot my…' grace period lapsed, Stiles ran to his room to grab his sneakiest hoody and his car keys. Everything else he'd need---phone, shoes, puffy vest for warmth, and a flashlight---was scattered between the living room and kitchen. 

He was out the door and in the driver's seat of his old, beat-up, _beautiful_ jeep within minutes.

#####

Stiles may have known where to go to avoid detection and he may have had a better chance at finding the remaining remains than the others since he was so familiar with the forest, but he _should have known_ that finding body parts in real life was so much different than finding body parts on a screen.

After almost getting caught by his father and some of his deputies, Stiles had dropped down into a ditch---only to roll down a steep hill and crash into a leaf-covered torso. The only thing that kept him from screaming (in a very brave way, of course) was the herd of deer thundering through the clearing and almost into him. 

That was weird. It was also weird that the woman---the deceased woman---looked familiar. 

Once he'd swallowed back the prelude-to-puke saliva, he knelt down and studied her features. Dark hair, pale skin, well-formed features… she could have been a model. And yet, there was something about her that made him think about school and the recess yard and the older kids who either never looked at him and Scott or gave him more troubles to pile onto his heap. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. 

Stiles pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen. The map application was already active; it didn't take any effort at all to put a pin down to mark his current location. He saved it as _Jane Doe_ in his list of weird---and important---locations around Beacon Hills. He'd put it on the original, physical map once he returned home. 

He fully intended to send it to the tip hotline, somehow. He probably would have within minutes, anonymity taking a backseat to the law and catching her killer, if he hadn't heard a long, low growl erupt from the shadows behind him. 

Becoming coyote food hadn't been a factor in all his excitement. 

At the sound of heavy, two-legged footsteps, Stiles realised there was a lot he hadn't considered. 

His last thought before the animal emerged from the shadows was nothing more than _Dad is gonna kill me again when he finds me_ and then all attempts to shout or flee or freak-the-fuck-out promptly short-circuited somewhere in his central nervous system as a large, lumbering, misshapen figure with glowing red eyes and a freaking snout full of sharp and gleaming teeth came out of the shadows. Stiles wanted to scream. He was watching a real life horror movie monster stalking him. 

What.

The. 

Fuck. 

When his legs finally cooperated enough to push into the ground and attempt to stand, the beast in front of him snapped and snarled at him. Stiles floundered, scurrying back on his hands and feet, and crashed into a tree. 

"Easy… big fella," Stiles whispered, his voice so far from steady that even 'vibrating' was an under-exaggeration. "You don't wanna eat me. I'm all bones and wiry-ness and pharmaceutical grade stimulants." 

The creature crouched down, their gnarled and clawed hands sinking into the dirt. Stiles cursed his curiosity, his sense of adventure, and his complete lack of self-preservation. He prayed to any deity in existence to save his father the trauma of having to identify his mangled body in the county morgue. He looked around wildly for a weapon, finding a couple of rocks and a stick; he picked up the rocks and sucked in a deep, unsteady breath while rising to a standing position. 

The first rock missed its target by a mile. The creature snorted. 

Were they amused? Were they sentient, in a human way? 

Stiles was so far out of his wheelhouse. Nothing on the Discovery Channel or SyFy had prepared him for that moment. 

Figuring that he had nothing left to lose, Stiles threw the second rock. It landed in the middle of the beast's forehead. Before he could cheer---and he was totally going to cheer because accuracy had never been one of his strengths---the creature roared so loudly, so forcefully that wind rustled Stiles' clothes and made him want to close his eyes. 

"C'mon… can't blame a guy for trying," Stiles mumbled. 

The beast growled again and took two steps towards Stiles. 

"Apparently you can," Stiles added as he backed up two steps in response. 

Before Stiles could even think about the stick, the beast pounced. They tackled; Stiles fell under their weight, his air knocked out of his chest in the process. He caught sight of a flare in the glowing red eyes before the creature opened their mouth. 

All Stiles could see was teeth---so many teeth! 

He thought he screamed, but he couldn't be sure. Those many, many teeth were embedded in his side, between his ribs and his hips; Stiles was sure he was going to be ripped in two like the girl, but he was released after an undetermined length of time. 

The creature jumped over him, loping off into the distance, and was hidden by trees and brush and their shadows.

Stiles winced as he sat up, pressing a hand to the bite in his torso. Blood dripped over his fingers. 

"If I get an infection---or rabies---I'm coming back for you, torch and pitchfork style," Stiles muttered. 

He took off his hoodie and wrapped it as best as he could around his middle. In the distance, he could hear voices and footsteps---the sounds of the deputies coming closer to his location. Part of him wanted to stay, to be found and hopefully taken to a car and a first aid kit, but the rest of him wanted to avoid his father's disappointment and knew he needed to flee without leaving an obvious trace. 

After grabbing his flashlight, he looked around the scene. The body was undisturbed, miraculously, and the leaves took care of his footprints. He saw some fresh blood on few of them; those, he gathered up and shoved into his pants' pockets. It wasn't the best thing to do, but he really didn't want something as obvious as fresh, wet blood hanging around for even the least observant deputy to find. 

"Never telling Scottie," he breathed. "Never ever." 

With one last look around, Stiles decided he'd done all he could in the time he had left and he took off for his vehicle.

#####

Instead of getting any sort of sleep to help prepare him for the first day back at school, Stiles stayed awake. He blamed it on the adrenaline and wound care, at first, but then it was his overactive imagination that carried him through until six-thirty in the morning, when his father returned home.

Stiles had dived into the deep end of pseudo-science and cryptozoology and hidden anything worth revisiting in password-protected folders and the only lockable drawer in his desk by the time John knocked on and opened his bedroom door. There were a few too many possibilities for Stiles' liking---each one more unrealistic and more terrifying than the previous one---and Stiles decided to tuck them all away in his head until he had a bit more time to freak _the fuck_ out in private. He took one look at John's exhausted but smiling face and decided to pretend to be fine for at least another few hours. 

He pretended all the time. A little extra acting wasn't going to hurt anyone. 

"Did you get any sleep?" John asked. 

"A bit," Stiles replied. "Was too worried to really settle down." 

John frowned. "Worried?" 

"About you." 

John sighed. "Kiddo, I was fine. Had my guys with me the whole time." 

"Did you find anything?" Stiles asked. 

"Some weird tracks in the woods. Some fur. Evidence like that," John replied. "No body or body parts. Looks like a scavenger dragged what's left away, maybe. Heard some howling up in the hills." 

Stiles frowned. They'd been closing in on his location---and the location of the rest of the murder victim---when he fled the area. The creature---whatever they were---had been moving away from the scene. Unless there had been someone else, nearby, the deputies and his father should have found the remains. 

"I'm sorry," Stiles said. 

"Don't worry about it," John said in reply. He smiled a bit. "They're going to run another search this morning, fresh eyes. Bring the county cadets in, too, for a bit of a field trip."

Stiles snorted. "Nothing like hands-on learning." 

"Speaking of learning…" 

"Big day. Classes, books, lacrosse practice," Stiles said, nodding along with his words. "Scott's determined to make first line this year." 

"And what about you?" 

With a shrug, Stiles said, "Well, you know, I finally have the bench grooved to fit my ass, so---" 

John sighed and Stiles stopped talking. It was something of a sore spot between them; John thought Stiles should apply himself and improve his athleticism and Stiles thought no amount of practice could override the innate sense of clumsiness than his gangly limbs provided. 

Beyond that differing opinion, Stiles just didn't _get_ it---the need to compete, the need to beat one's chest, the need to be top dog. He'd joined the lacrosse team to keep Scott company---and to give his father a break in the worrying department---but it was far from his favourite past time. As embarrassing as it was, Stiles preferred sitting on the bench to playing and getting his ass kicked for his efforts. He had nothing to prove to his classmates. 

"Think this'll be the year for you and Lydia?" John asked. 

Stiles almost burst out laughing, but he held it together enough to smile and shrug. "It's a ten year plan for a reason, Dad, no need to rush these things," he replied. 

And that was the other thing he just did not understand. When his classmates started holding hands and proclaiming they were dating in the sixth and seventh grade, Stiles thought it was a popularity thing. He'd assumed they were combining their strengths for schoolyard domination. By the time he'd walked into Beacon Hills High, he realised people paired up for kissing and groping and all sorts of other things that made him feel a little queasy if he considered them for too long. 

No girl made him feel… hot. No guy did, either. Stiles was perfectly fine believing everyone else was playing along, like the idea of attraction was some sort of group lie. 

When he told Scott he didn't get why Scott's asthma almost kicked in whenever he looked too long at one particular girl in the junior class, Scott just smiled, patted his shoulder, and said, "You're probably just… you've got different tastes than me. It'll happen, buddy." 

It never happened. So, he played along. He told Scott that he was interested in Lydia---which wasn't _untrue_ , but it was more like she was a puzzle he wanted to solve because he did not understand why she lied so much to everyone around her and hid her amazingness in the process---and that he had a ten-year plan for wooing her. Scott grinned in response and told him some variation of "I told you so" and that had been that. 

The Lydia Plan kept everyone off his back. Sure, it was embarrassing at times, but he played into it willingly. Better for everyone to think he had his sights set on someone completely out of his league than to think he was broken. 

He was pretty sure he was broken, and he didn't know how to deal with that. He couldn't expect anyone else to handle it in decent way.

"All right. I'm going to go get a shower---" 

"I'll go down and start on breakfast," Stiles interrupted. "Meet in the kitchen at seven?" 

John smiled. "It's a date, son." 

By the time they reunited over pancakes with mashed berries to eat and coffee to drink, Stiles felt like his decent son facade was securely in place. They talked a bit about what Stiles thought his course load would be, about how many classes he thought he'd have with Scott, and about any mostly-harmless gossip John had picked up at the station. Tara was dating someone new---her partner didn't like her girlfriend much, but she made Tara happy---and MacMillan broke up a fight between two old ladies at a bridge tournament yesterday afternoon. 

Stiles would've paid to see the latter, and he was glad for the former. He liked Tara; she'd been one of the few deputies who volunteered her time to help Stiles with his homework, after his mother's condition had deteriorated. 

As they ate and caught up on their lives, thoughts of the previous night drifted from his mind. He almost felt normal---or as normal as he could possibly feel---again.

#####

Stiles' false sense of normalcy didn't last very long.

After breakfast, Stiles realised he couldn't find his phone, which meant he probably lost it somewhere between leaving the body and returning to his vehicle. He really, really hoped it wasn't by the rest of the murder victim (or creature chew toy), but he ran out of time before he could log into his service provider's website to activate tracking on it.

Scott met him outside the school, his usual calm demeanor replaced by something a lot more tense. Stiles thought he smelled like… burnt toast. It wasn't his breath; it was just in general, all around him. 

"Where were you last night?" Scott asked, his voice hushed. 

"Why?" Stiles asked. 

"I tried texting you! Like five times, and you never wrote back!" 

Stiles cracked a small smile. "You know me, sometimes I just get caught up in a tricky campaign, and---" 

"I logged in, you weren't online." 

"Maybe I have a super secret account for when I play with my super secret friends," Stiles said. 

Scott raised an eyebrow. "You're okay, though, right? I thought you might've decided to go into the woods or something, but---oh, man, you did, didn't you?" 

Stiles deflated. "Maybe. But, I'm okay. Except I lost my phone out there somewhere." 

"Did you find the body?" Scott asked. 

"I…" 

Stiles had been about to tell him everything, including his interaction with Monster Mayhem, but his insides tightened in fear. Scott might not believe him---or he might believe that Stiles had some sort of psychotic break while alone in the woods, in the dark---and Stiles didn't want to know what that would feel like. 

Instead, he forced himself to shrug and sigh. "Nah. Big waste of time. Almost got caught by the goon squad. And Dad. High-tailed it out of there pretty quickly." 

"I'm glad you're okay," Scott said. "You want me to come with you after practice to find your phone? We can use mine to call it after you ping the location and we get close." 

Stiles clapped a hand to Scott's shoulder. "That would be awesome." 

As he caught sight of Lydia about to blow past them, he decided play the role of crush. "Not as awesome as Lydia, though," he added. "Hey, Lydia! You look… like you're gonna ignore me!" 

She, of course, ignored him. 

Scott nudged him with his shoulder. "Sorry, man. Maybe… better luck next time." 

"I'm just laying the groundwork for the beautiful future we'll have together," Stiles said as he started walking into the school with Scott quickly following him. 

Homeroom and their locker assignments went easily enough. Danny, Jackson, and Lydia traded with people from their separate classes until they got three lockers next to each other, and Stiles found a bit of peace in knowing his locker was next to an empty one, with Scott's locker across the hallway and maybe fifteen feet down the corridor. Since he didn't have his phone, he wrote his combination down in two of his notebooks---in case he lost one, which was a very real possibility---and he also put it and his locker number on a piece of paper he crammed into one of the teensy-tiny pockets inside his bag. 

English with Mister Reasonable Ryan Curtis was first on the day's schedule, and it didn't look like he'd have chemistry with Mister Adrian Holds-A-Grudge Harris until the next day. A small plus against the rapidly growing line of minuses and the rising sea of uncertainty that was threatening to wipe out everything else. 

He took a seat at the back of the room, against the wall of window. Scott followed him and chose the closest seat in the next row. Before everyone settled into their chairs, Mister Curtis was passing out stacks of stapled papers to every desk at the front of each line of desks. 

Stiles liked having a syllabus. He wasn't particularly studious, but having a plan let him manage his distractibility. He could use the schedule to work ahead when his mind wasn't struggling to focus to make up for the times when focus was impossible. If two of his semester's classes had course outlines, he'd be a little bit luckier than if he received none. 

Some of his classmates were talking amongst themselves--- _"I heard it was only two bodies but Jill said it was three"_ and _"did you hear they brought that guy from the motorcycle shop in for questioning?"_ and _"my brother said it was something about tattoos"_ and so on---but Stiles tried to keep his attention on the papers in his hands. He'd learn the truth from his father. Listening to rumours was only going to rile him up and tempt him into revealing what he already knew. 

Before he could dive deeper into the class requirements, Mister Curtis started speaking, trying to turn the group of students' collective attention onto the syllabus. Stiles tried to pay attention. There was no sense in getting in trouble so early into the school year. 

A ringing phone captured his focus, though. 

At first, Stiles didn't understand why Mister Curtis wasn't reprimanding the student in possession of the phone. But, then, he realised that Mister Curtis wasn't aware the phone was ringing. 

No one seemed to be aware of it. 

Convinced he was hearing things, he ran a hand over his head and tried to take in a deep breath. Scott shot him a worried look; Stiles tried to smile back at him in a reassuring way. 

The ringing stopped. Stiles sighed and looked out the window. He wasn't losing it. He wasn't going crazy. He wasn't…

There was a girl outside, with a phone to her head. 

_"Mom, three calls on my first day is a little overdoing it."_

He couldn't be hearing her… could he?

_"Everything except a pen. Oh my god. I didn't actually forget a pen?!"_

How on earth could he hear her through the window and across the schoolyard?!

_"Okay, okay, I gotta go. Love ya."_

Stiles knew he had to be losing his mind. When his mother started showing signs of illness, she had conversations with ghosts and illusions. Sure, it was hitting him earlier than it had struck her, but if it were a matter of genetics, then it was possible… or, at least, it seemed possible to him. 

He watched her progress into the school, alongside Vice Principal Miller, listening as they chatted about San Francisco and Beacon Hills, and he could still hear them when they made their way inside the building. 

Stiles didn't know _how_ he knew, but he knew they were coming closer.

When Mister Miller opened the door, Stiles flailed. Scott looked at him, eyebrows raised, until the new girl walked into the classroom. Scott's eyebrows lifted even higher as his eyes grew impossibly huge. Stiles took one look at the dopey Disney Prince look on Scott's face and almost laughed. Stiles had either started losing his mind or been gifted with super senses, but Scott was in love. 

Great. 

"Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent," Mister Miller said to their class. "Please do your best to make her feel welcome." 

Deciding to throw his friend a bit of a tip (and to test his brain at the same time), Stiles caught Scott's attention with a swat and a hiss. When Scott stopped tracking Allison's progress through the room and down their row, Stiles held up his pen and mouthed the suggestion to offer her one. Scott frowned, confused, but at Stiles' insistence, he nodded and followed through on Stiles' advice. 

When Allison thanked him and smiled, Scott's dopiest face to ever dope made a reappearance. He turned back, grinning to himself, and Stiles had to resist the urge to laugh.

He wasn't losing his mind. He was hearing things that he shouldn't be able to hear, but he wasn't going to die yet. In the grand scheme of things, that was great news!

#####

"C'mon. Grab your gear," Scott insisted. "I want to get on the field and warm up a bit before practice starts."

Stiles eyed Scott. He was Stiles' best friend, and Stiles loved him, but the sudden drive to improve at lacrosse was a little unusual. 

"You're serious?" Stiles asked. 

"I can't sit out again," Scott said. He tugged Stiles' sleeve, pulling him down the hallway towards his locker. "My whole life is sitting on the sidelines. This season, I make first line." 

Stiles snorted. He didn't mean to, but he couldn't help it. Scott could barely run one length of the lacrosse field without wheezing. 

"Hey, that's the spirit," he said as they continued to walk. "Everyone should have a dream---even a pathetically unrealistic one." 

Scott glared at him. "I'm got a new long-term inhaler to go with my emergency one, and Deaton made me this tea he claims will help. I've been drinking it every night." 

"Your boss, who is a veterinarian, made you a tea to help your asthma," Stiles confirmed. At Scott's nod, he said, "What's it made out of? Beef lung? Catnip? Bully sticks?" 

Scott's glare increased in intensity. "Herbs. It's tea, Stiles, not a bin of pet treats." 

"You don't appreciate my jokes," Stiles muttered as he stopped at his locker and fiddled with the combination lock. "This bromance is on the rocks." 

"I'm going out into the woods with you later to look for your phone," Scott said. "Isn't that enough to save our epic love?" 

Stiles snorted into his open locker. He grabbed a couple textbooks and shoved them into his backpack to keep his notebook company. He wasn't sure if he'd get around to starting any assignments, but it couldn't hurt to be prepared for extreme boredom.

Although, Scott reminding him about his phone also reminded Stiles about the figuring-out-what-bit-him plan. 

There probably wouldn't be any doing of any homework.

#####

Practice went almost as Stiles expected it to. He didn't die during laps, which was surprising, and Scott didn't make first line.

He did make second line, though, while Stiles was still on the only-if-no-one-else-can-play line. 

Honestly, though, he'd been hoping for his usual spot on the roster.

Stiles blamed Allison's appearance, tucked into Lydia's side on the bleachers, for Scott's improved performance. 

Scott seemed to think Allison provided a bit of motivation, too, judging by the way he was currently waxing poetically about her amazingness as they trudged through the forest on their way to Stiles' phone.

If Stiles had to hear about her smile one more time, he was going to scream---or at least roll his eyes. 

As Scott talked, clearly not needing anything more than hums from Stiles, Stiles focused on his surroundings. Everything looked different in daylight; everything looked nonthreatening in daylight. Beyond that change, though, there was so much _more_ he could see _and_ here: squirrels and mice and a rabbit, the babbling brook that ran on the other side of the preserve, and a quiet rhythmic tattoo that sounded like Scott's heartbeat. 

It should've been impossible. The mice were way too far away to see in so much clarity; a heartbeat could only be heard by human ears through a stethoscope or extreme closeness. 

And yet… 

"Stiles? Stiles?" 

Scott's hand came up, pressing into the centre of Stiles' chest. It was warm and steady. 

"Breathe, man," Scott murmured. "You're okay."

Stiles pulled his focus from his suddenly and weirdly acute senses---or the hallucination of such senses, because despite his previous experiment he hadn't completely ruled that out yet---and looked into Scott's face as the world quieted around him. 

"You good?" Scott asked. 

Stiles nodded. "Yeah… yeah."

"Been a while since you've had a panic attack."

Stiles thought about explaining it---truthfully---but changed his mind before he could open his mouth. He was a bad friend. He was being dishonest, when Scott deserved the truth. He could rationalize it; he could say it was just like pretending to have feelings for Lydia, because he didn't want to get into trouble or make people worry about him. But, those rationalizations really didn't hold up so well when Stiles was faced with Scott's concerned puppy dog eyes. 

Still, Scott could react badly when Stiles told him what was happening. He could tell his mother that he thought Stiles was cracking up and losing his mind; given Stiles' mother's medical history, it wouldn't be much of a stretch. It could go well, of course, since they'd been friends since… forever. But, it could also go very, _very_ badly. 

"Guess I was due for one, then, huh?" Stiles joked. 

"Things with your dad okay?" Scott asked. 

"Yeah. As long as he doesn't find my phone out here," Stiles replied. 

Scott smiled and held up his phone. Stiles could see the dot of his phone blinking on the screen. 

"Getting close?" Stiles asked.

"I think so, yeah!" Scott said, his smile stretching. "Then you won't have anything to worry about!"

Stiles thought about the bite mark in his side and the way his senses were screwing with his grip on reality, but he still managed a small smile. "Yeah… that would be awesome. Thanks, Scott." 

They managed their way through the woods, heading into an area that looked a bit familiar, while Stiles made a point to ask Scott about the new medication and the tea. Since it seemed to work---since Scott hadn't collapsed on the field because he couldn't breathe---Stiles wanted to make up for his previous comments about the pet treats. Scott jumped at the chance to talk about how good it felt to jog without having an attack, and that subject quickly spiralled back to the new girl watching him and how cute she was and how much Scott wants to get to know her. 

Stiles smiled as they arrived at their destination. He was sure if he just let Scott's infatuation run its course, he'd have his friend back to normal in a week or two. Allison had been absorbed by Lydia's and Jackson's social circle; there was no way she'd be lucky enough to experience Scott's charms.

"It should be right around here," Stiles said, dipping his head down to look at all the leaves. "Right?"

"Uh… yeah. We're here. Lemme call it."

He spotted a couple of blood drops he must have missed; he could see where the body _should have been_. 

Someone moved the body.

That was a terrifying thought. 

"What are you doing here? This is private property!"

Stiles looked up as Scott startled beside him. A tall, dark, brooding guy was standing in front of them. In his leather jacket, with his scowling eyebrows, he looked like a menace. He looked older than he really was. And something about him seemed _sad_ underneath all the hostility. Stiles was certain his senses were playing tricks on him, but that was the impression he got the longer he stared at the guy. 

"I, uh, sorry, man," Stiles said, bowing his head slightly. "We didn't know." 

"We were just looking for---" 

"My phone," Stiles said, cutting off Scott for no reason he could identify. "I dropped it out here… somewhere." 

Stiles' hand shot up, reflexes _waaaay_ too sharp, and he caught what ended up being his phone after the guy threw something at him. 

"Thank you," Stiles said. He bowed his head again and received a nod for his efforts. He nudged Scott. "C'mon, buddy. Let's get you to work." 

"Yeah, all right," Scott mumbled, nodding. 

Stiles turned to leave but something---something inexplicable, but still _something_ he couldn't ignore---had him turning back to look at the guy from over his shoulder. 

He was watching Stiles---or glaring at him, but Stiles decided to assume that sourpuss expression was his default resting face. When their eyes met, the guy nodded again. Stiles didn't know what it meant, but another inexplicable something inside of him hoped they'd cross paths in the near future. 

It wasn't until the guy disappeared from Stiles' sight that Stiles realised who he was. 

Derek Hale. 

_Holy shit!_

Stiles remembered him from school, even though they were years apart. He was a cool basketball player when Stiles had been a gangly kid who couldn't sit still long enough to even contemplate breakfast let alone a sport to play. They'd never really crossed paths. They'd existed in two completely different circles. 

"Stiles?" 

He turned back to Scott. "Dude! That was Derek Hale. You remember, right?" At Scott's expression of confusion, Stiles added, "He's only like a few years older than us." 

"Huh? Okay. What about him?" 

"His family. They all burned to death in a fire, like ten years ago," Stiles said. 

"I wonder what he's doing back, then," Scott said, his voice turning quiet like it did when his mental gears were turning. 

"What are you thinking?" 

"Well. He's back, and all of a sudden there's a dead body that isn't too far from his old house," Scott suggested. "I mean, it's funny timing, right?"

Stiles grimaced. "Nope. Don't go there. That's how reputations get ruined." 

"Why not?" Scott asked. "Just last week you were convinced the old lady across the street from you is a witch who eats little children---" 

"Because I was bored, she gave me the stink-eye, and this is serious." 

Scott nodded. "I know it's serious. If it's him---" 

"It's not." 

Stiles thumbed open his lockscreen. The map was up, as it had been when he'd locked the screen the previous night; the dot he'd placed was still there, but it had been renamed. Where it used to say _Jane Doe_ , it currently read _Laura Hale_. 

He understood why Derek seemed sad. 

Was Derek the only Hale still alive? 

The hunch he'd had, about Derek's innocence, blossomed into certainty. Even if their relationship was fraught, Stiles couldn't imagine one of them wanting to kill the other. They were all they had left of their family. 

"Which you can tell by the resting serial killer face," Scott said, interrupting Stiles from puzzling over everything, to date, that he knew. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and nudged Scott down a bit of a hill. "He isn't the killer," Stiles said. "I have a feeling. A good strong feeling. It's not him."

"That good, strong feeling… it's not anywhere around your dick, right?" Scott asked. 

"No, you jerk," Stiles replied. He grimaced and said, "Lydia's got all those feelings."

Unable to see Stiles' face and apparently assuming Stiles was telling the truth, Scott laughed. "Good. Just checking. But, to be on the safe side, you should mention it to your dad," he said. 

"Why?" 

"Maybe Derek saw something," Scott said. 

"If he did, he'd go to the station himself," Stiles said in response. "Scott, it's not him. My spidey-sense isn't tingling---and I'm suspicious of almost everyone, right? Just because a person is a little different and makes you uncomfortable doesn't mean they're a bad person." 

"He doesn't make me uncomfortable!" Scott protested. 

"Right." 

"He doesn't!" 

Stiles snorted. "Sure, buddy." 

"If he makes a move on me, I could take him," Scott added in a mumbling voice. 

Stiles bit back a laugh. "Sure, buddy," he repeated.

#####

Monster Mayhem, according to an Instagram account with the name "silverHunter79," was a werewolf.

A freaking werewolf. _Huh._

Stiles looked over the pictures he found. At first, he thought his online spelunking had sent him to a movie effects artist or some sort of sculpture artist---the name associated with the account certainly didn't suggest any sort of expert, scholastic opinion. The internet was full of scams and clickbait and other forms of ridiculousness. He'd been prepared to close the tab and continue on his search, but then he'd caught sight of a creature too similar to the one that had bitten him and he realised the account might have some information he needed. 

Setting aside the worry that at least one person was hunting all of these unusual creatures, Stiles decided to focus on the rest of the content. 

Under the photograph of the creature similar to the one he'd encountered, he read: _While all werewolves have control over how much of their basic form---accent fur, eye glow, claws, pronounced brow ridge, fangs---to show, only some have the ability to change into this beast form, and even fewer have the ability to turn into full-on, up-sized wolves. Some hunters suspect it's a power thing. I think it's a ferocity thing. Sexy beast, huh? Bet you wish you could mount this head on your wall._

Stiles saved the page to his password-protected folder and leaned back in his chair. 

The hunting thing was really hard to ignore. But, so were other things. 

He looked down at the side of his body where the bandages had been covering a bite mark. There was no bite anymore, not even a scar. Smoothing his hand over the spot where the mark had been, he wondered about claws. What would his resemble? Would they look like the claws of Monster Mayhem? Would they be different? Smaller? _Larger?!_

Stiles felt a panic attack coming, judging by the way his breath was fluttering in his chest. 

The more he repeated the thought--- _I was bitten by a werewolf; I am probably going to be a werewolf_ \---the more intense that fluttering became. 

His phone was in his hand and then to his ear, dialing a familiar number, before he fully realised what he'd done. But, once he'd made sense of his actions, he also realised that maybe--- _maybe_ \---Scott could help him. As bad as Scott was at big (and successful) schemes, he was very gifted at finding the bright side to awful situations. If Scott believed him---and that was a big 'if,' all caps, bolded, italicized---then there was a chance Scott could help him find the pluses to his weird and terrifying predicament. 

"Dude! Perfect timing!" Scott exclaimed. "What's up?" 

"I… I need some advi---wait, why perfect timing?" 

Stiles regretted asking the question as soon as Scott started telling him about his evening with Allison, about how upset she was because she clipped a dog with her car, about how Scott splinted the dog's leg and made her---Allison, not the dog---smile, and then about how Allison agreed to go with him to the big party the following evening.

And then, Scott repeated almost all of that, all over again, in order of his favourite moments with Allison. 

When Scott began to repeat his repetition, with more pontification about her most amazing attributes, Stiles ended the call and tossed his phone onto his bed. 

He didn't know why he'd bothered trying.

#####

Sleep hadn't been easy to find, but when Stiles found it, it was deep and heavy. It rolled into him, mid-thought, and washed out all his worries like a wave washed a sandy shore.

It had been almost peaceful, in a way. 

Peaceful could not describe how Stiles woke from that sleep, though. 

Instead of his bed, with his blankets and his perfect pillow, Stiles found himself lying on the forest floor. A tree root was his pillow. 

Stiles leapt to his feet on a yelp. 

"This is not my bedroom," he said to himself, between deep breaths. "Fuck. How did I get out here without tipping off Dad?" 

He ran a hand over the back and top of his head as he looked around. He had no idea where he was---whether he was in the preserve or near the Hales' house or on the other side of Beacon Hills, he didn't know. All he knew was that it was early, because there was heavy fog and that only ever seemed to happen first thing in the morning when the dew evaporated. Apart from that, he had no idea about anything. 

Two glowing red pinpricks in the distance caught his attention. Without a doubt, Stiles knew that was Monster Mayhem. He did not like that---being alone, somewhere, in the forest, with the monster who probably killed Laura (because, really, who else could have done what had been done to her without equipment of some kind?) and who bit him---and he did not know how to fix the situation. 

Stiles did the only thing of which he could think. 

Stiles ran. 

He took off like a shot, running faster than he'd ever run before (which was another piece of evidence to support the crazy idea that he'd been turned into a werewolf---or at least someone with super speed), and he headed in the direction opposite of the sounds of the forest. Something about that seemed like the best idea; that idea was confirmed when he heard a car coming from that same direction. He was heading towards a road, a strip of asphalt where nature didn't thrive or chirp or rustle in the wind. 

Not caring that the prickly brush would rip into his flannel sleep pants, Stiles all but leapt out from the woods onto the road, looking around wildly for some sign to determine his location. There were no markers or billboards or anything. 

But, there was a car. 

A black sports car came over the hill and headed straight for him. It stopped in a brief squeal of tires, an inch of space between him and its bumper. When Stiles moved around to the shoulder of the road, he saw that the passenger side window was open and Derek Hale was sitting in the driver's seat. 

"Get in," Derek said. 

Deciding Derek Hale was a much better option than Monster Mayhem, Stiles nodded and opened the car door. He fell inside, straightened out his ridiculous limbs, and slammed the door. 

"Drive… away. _Please_. There's somethi---someone chasing me," Stiles said, buckling his seat belt. 

"Did you get anything off of them?" Derek asked. "A sense? An emotion? Even a smell?" 

"Uh, scary and pissed, mostly," Stiles replied. "Why did I wake up out there?" 

"They're calling out for you," Derek replied. "An alpha needs their pack. They make them strong." 

"We're all stronger in a pack instead of on our own?" Stiles asked. 

Derek nodded. "Yeah, something like that." 

"So. Werewolves." 

Derek nodded again. 

Stiles exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face. "Damn it. I hoped I was letting my imagination get the better of me. Who bit you? Did Monster Mayhem get you, too?" 

"Who---what---no, I'm a born wolf. My whole family---" 

"Ohmigod, that makes _so_ much more sense!" Stiles exclaimed after a burst of understanding. "The way you guys were so involved in Beacon Hills stuff, but never really out and about, kind of mysterious-like. Your family wanted a safe place, but you didn't want to get noticed for being too different, either! So many people thought you guys were a cult or something. It didn't fit. I didn't think cult leaders would do so much for their community." 

"My family protected Beacon Hills. We weren't a cult," Derek said. 

Stiles smiled. "Good to know. I'm not really a robes, prayers, incense, and brainwashing kind of guy." 

"Is that what happens in cults?" 

"How should I know?" Stiles asked. 

Derek rolled his eyes and continued navigating the vehicle towards the residential areas of the community. Stiles turned his head and watched him, while trying to decide what question to ask next. 

"What?" Derek asked. 

"I can't decide what I want to know more," Stiles admitted. 

"You'll have plenty of time to ask all your questions," Derek said. "The full moon's tomorrow. I can't let you go off on your own while you don't have control." 

"Well. This will be hard to explain to my dad, but I'm relieved," Stiles said. 

"You are?" 

Stiles nodded. "I was thinking I'd have to deal with this on my own. Thanks for coming to get me." 

"I need you to find the alpha," Derek said. 

"Hey, I'll take whatever sort of help I can get, man," Stiles said with another small smile. "What happens after you find him?" 

"I kill him. Before hunters get to him." 

"Why?" 

Derek's eyebrows furrowed. "Because he's feral. Because he killed Laura. Because he's going to kill and hurt---and probably bite---a lot more people." 

Nodding, Stiles said, "Hmmm. Okay. Makes sense." 

"It does?" Derek asked. 

"Protectors, right?" Stiles replied. 

"Ye-yeah." 

Stiles nodded, settling back in his seat. He felt better, knowing there was a good chance he wasn't going to become a mindless, feral killer, as well as knowing that one of Beacon Hills' secret protectors was back to help when the community was facing serious danger. 

"How did you find me?" Stiles asked. 

"Scent." 

"Oh. Sorry." 

Derek snorted. 

Stiles glanced at him. "What?" 

"Underneath all the teenaged boy, you don't smell bad," Derek said. 

"Flatterer." 

Derek snorted again. 

"So. What do I need to know, short term?" Stiles asked. "I mean, I'm guessing there's probably a lot, like an encyclopedic series of books' worth, but to get through today, what do I need to know?" 

"Don't do anything that gets you angry or worked up," Derek said. "Any other bite, it might take longer, but the full moon---" 

"Is tonight," Stiles interrupted. 

"Yeah. I'll come for you after sunset," Derek said. "Will the Sheriff---" 

"He's been working nights a lot this week and tonight is no exception," Stiles said, interrupting again. "He'll be gone by then." 

"Okay." 

"So… don't get worked up. That's all you've got for me?" Stiles asked. 

"Avoid mistletoe, wolfsbane, and mountain ash." 

Stiles shrugged. "I don't know what they look like, but I'll look 'em up. They're our kryptonite?" 

"Something like that," Derek replied. "If you get hurt and you're not healing, find me." 

"How? My super smeller?" Stiles asked, tapping his nose. 

Derek glared at him for a brief second, before pulling out a phone from his jacket pocket. "Put your number in here. Send yourself a text so you have mine," he said. 

After taking the device, Stiles did as Derek instructed. His text--- _I may call you Sourwolf from time to time. Because of your scowlyscowl. But, seriously, thanks, dude._ \---caused him to smile a bit, because he could easily picture five possibilities for Derek's reaction and all of them were a little bit funny to him. 

Derek steered his car onto Stiles' street. "If you think you're going to change---and you'll know, you'll feel it---go some place no one can see you and get a grip on your control." 

"How?" 

He sighed. "I don't know." 

"Wow, helpful." 

Derek grunted. "I'm trying." 

Something in the stiff set of his shoulders and arms told Stiles he was trying---and that he was not used to making so much effort. Stiles frowned. If it were his father or Scott behaving in a similar matter, he'd probably (bro-)hug them and provoke them into talking out what was on their minds; he didn't know Derek well enough for those tactics yet so he had to refrain from pushing too hard, too soon. 

"I know," Stiles murmured, "and I appreciate it." 

After a jerking nod, Derek said, "We grew up calling them anchors. Something to ground us. My mom said we were hers---the pack, I mean. Some people use an individual. Some people use an idea or a memory." 

"What do you use?" Stiles asked. 

"Anger." 

Stiles frowned. "That hardly seems… healthy. Does mine have to be… the same? I'm not really angry, even with the bite and stuff." 

"That might change." 

"You think?" Stiles asked. 

Derek pulled the car off to the side of the road, tires brushing the curb. He sighed and parked before he looked at Stiles; Stiles felt pinned in place by his greenish gaze. 

"I don't know," Derek repeated. He moved his hands along the steering wheel. "I don't know how to explain this stuff. I don't know you. I don't---" 

Derek stopped talking as soon as Stiles put his hand on Derek's arm. Stiles smiled a small smile. "Hey, I get it," he said, keeping his voice quiet to match the mood---and maybe to prevent Derek from getting spooked, too, on top of whatever else he was feeling. "And… and, I'm sorry about Laura." 

Bowing his head forward, Derek closed his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered. 

"Your sister, right?" 

"Yeah, older," Derek said. "She'd seen something about some animal attacks in the area. She wanted to investigate because they seemed..." 

"Wolfie?" Stiles asked. 

Derek nodded and turned his head slightly so Stiles could just barely meet his gaze. "Yeah. Something like that," he replied. 

"Okay. Do you know what she found?" 

"No." 

Stiles squeezed his hand around Derek's arm before releasing him. "All right. So, I find an anchor and then we solve the mysteries!" he declared. When Derek turned fully, confusion written all over his face, Stiles smiled. "What? You've got the muscles, I've got the brains. Together, we should be able to figure it all out!" 

"I've got the muscles, you've got the brains?" Derek echoed. 

"I could've said looks, but I'm not all that wrapped up in aesthetics," Stiles said. 

Derek grunted and shook his head. Stiles wasn't certain, because he barely knew the guy, but he was pretty sure Derek was trying to keep himself from smiling. Stiles decided that was a small victory. 

"Do you… want me to stick around?" Derek asked. 

"And make breakfast for my dad when he comes home?" Stiles suggested in a joking tone. 

"That might be hard to explain," Derek admitted. 

Stiles chuckled. "Understatement," he said. "I do think you should meet him at some point. If we're… going to be spending any time together. If you'll teach me. And let me help you solve mysteries." 

"I'm trying to stay under the radar," Derek said. 

"There are hunters in town?" Stiles asked. 

"Yes." 

"Will they hurt you if they find you?" 

"Probably," Derek replied. 

"Will they hurt me if they find me?" 

Stiles felt his heartbeat quicken when Derek frowned. "They shouldn't," Derek said, his voice wavering only a _teensytiny_ amount but still enough to be caught by Stiles' upgraded ears. "They're supposed to have a code. They're only supposed to hunt those who hurt them---or who do bad things." 

"But." 

"Yeah." 

Stiles exhaled a long, slow breath. "What's this world comin' to when you can't trust the honour code of a bunch of werewolf hunters?" 

"You're taking all of this very well," Derek said. 

Stiles took a moment to think about how to respond to Derek's observation. "I will probably freak out later," he admitted. He shrugged. "I'd have preferred to stay human, honestly, but I'll make this work."

"You're… not lying." 

"How can you tell?" Stiles asked. 

"Heartbeat. It's pretty steady," Derek replied. "When people lie, their pulse can quicken." 

"Huh. Cool." 

Derek shrugged. "It can be. But…" 

"But sometimes the truth sucks," Stiles said. 

Derek nodded. "Basically, yeah." 

"Well, that's the truth---ha!---no matter what," Stiles reasoned. A thought occurred to him, and even though it was off-topic, he had to ask the question. "Do I have to worry about Monster Mayhem coming into my house to get at me?" 

"Monster Mayhem?" 

Stiles shrugged. "That's what I've been calling the, uh, the alpha? Yeah. The alpha. Does that make us… betas? Deltas? Omegas? Phis?" 

"Betas," Derek replied. "Omega is the term we use for lone wolves." 

"Can we be a pack if we're two betas?" 

"It won't be the same---" 

"But we can still have each other's backs and stuff, right? That's good common ground for some sort of bond," Stiles interjected. "Hey. How does a werewolf become the alpha?" 

Derek looked at him. "You ask a lot of questions." 

"How else do you learn things?" Stiles asked in response. "So, how does it work?" 

"Killing the previous alpha, usually. Sometimes it's inherited, if the alpha dies and has a natural heir in place to absorb the power. And rarely, someone becomes an alpha out of… strength of character," Derek explained. "We call those true alphas. They're really rare. Kind of like a legend." 

Stiles nodded, processing all of that information. "Alphas have red eyes, right? What colour are yours? What colour are mine gonna be?" 

"Yours should be yellow. Gold." 

"Yours, too?" Stiles pushed. 

"Mine are blue." 

Stiles frowned. "But you're a beta, too, right? So… why? Is it because your eyes are more green and mine are more brown and it's a colour coordination thing?"

"No. It's something else." 

Judging by the way Derek's voice and demeanor tightened, Stiles determined that the subject wasn't yet up for discussion. He could understand that; he wasn't exactly ready to spill all of his secrets to Derek, no matter what they had in common. 

Stiles tried to smile, hoping he looked non-threatening enough to give Derek a reason to relax. He cleared his throat and said, "Okay. Cool. So… stay calm, start thinking about what keeps me calm and grounded… and I'll see you tonight?" 

"Yes." 

"And I can still text you if I get into trouble… or if I have more questions?" 

"I'm definitely going to regret this," Derek muttered. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes. I'd rather you stay in touch---especially if you're having trouble controlling yourself." 

Stiles saluted him, sloppily but sincerely. He offered Derek a smirk and felt a little shiver of delight when Derek's stony expression softened. 

"You're going to be okay," Derek said. 

"You, too," Stiles said in reply. "I've got a feeling." 

"I'm not---" 

Stiles cut him off before he could say anything. "I've got a feeling. You don't know about my spidey-sense-like guts, but you'll learn. When I get a hunch, it's better to go along with it, ride it out." 

"Just some friendly advice, huh?" 

With a nod and a smile, Stiles said, "Yep." 

"Get out of the car." 

"Yes, sir, Boss Beta, sir," Stiles said after another messy salute. He almost let loose a fist pump when he saw Derek smile and shake his head, but he managed to rein it in and focus on getting out of the car without tripping or falling. "Thanks for the rescue and the drive back to civilization," he added. 

Derek nodded, so Stiles shut the door and hurried to his house. Derek drove away as Stiles fell back against the re-closed, re-locked front door; he heard John pull into the driveway before he could do anything more than breathe and try to process everything he'd learned during his drive out of the woods. 

At the sound of his father's car door slamming shut, Stiles scurried up the stairs and into his room on lightening-fast feet. He was in his bed before John could come into the house; he pulled the covers up over his torn and dirty pajamas, hiding the evidence of his adventure as best as he could in case John's first stop was his bedroom. He'd have to change the sheets on his bed, sooner rather than later, but it was the better option when the alternative was letting John see how dirty and torn his clothes had become. 

Sounds of his father making coffee and breakfast barely registered. He knew it was time to get up and start the day, but his day had already started. The information he'd gotten from Derek and the awareness that there was still so much he didn't know filled his brain until he felt like it was going to explode under all the pressure. 

"Stay calm," he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. "Sure. I'm a frickin' werewolf, and there are hunters out there, and a murderous alpha in the shadows, but sure. No problem." 

He didn't know how he was going to get through the day. 

When his phone buzzed from his bedside table, Stiles groaned and reached for the device. A text was waiting for him on the screen. 

_You're welcome. Don't call me dude. Or Sourwolf. Ever._

Stiles was grinning before he put his phone back on the table's wooden surface. He was certain that teasing Derek a little bit more would take off the edge of nervousness.

#####

_Stiles: Do I still need to take my Adderall?_  
 _Derek: Probably not. Might have to find a way to focus without it._  
 _Stiles: My teachers are gonna lurve this_

_Derek: You good?_  
_Stiles: Managed to talk my way out of one detention, but couldn't get out of the second one. Win some, lose some._  
_Derek: Your control?_  
_Stiles: So far, so good._  
_Derek: K_

_Stiles: The cafeteria reeeeeks!!!_  
_Derek: Yep_  
_Stiles: The smells! High school is so gross!_  
_Stiles: Every time Scott looks at Allison with his dopey heart eyes I have to cover my nose. What is that? Love? Can we smell love?_  
_Derek: Lust, probably._  
_Stiles: That is… both useful and gross_  
_Derek: Yep_

_Stiles: Are you ok?_  
_Derek: Yep_  
_Stiles: Is that the only word you know?_  
_Derek: Nope_

_Derek: Having fun in detention?_  
_Stiles: Jerk!_  
_Derek: ;D_  
_Stiles: OMG you emoticonned. Didn't think you had it in you! I am printing this text chain off and shellacking it to something._

_Stiles: Dad left. It's safe._  
_Derek: On my way._

#####

The itch under Stiles' skin peaked as soon as they stopped walking. It was as aggravating as it was calming, and Stiles didn't understand it one bit. If he had to compare it to anything, it was most like the way his mind felt without medication, but through his whole body. He wanted to curl up in a ball; he wanted to run. The conflict made him feel completely off-balance.

"Where are we?" Stiles asked. 

"About a mile from the house in the opposite direction of town," Derek said. "I should chain you up, but…" 

When he stopped talking, he shrugged his shoulders. Stiles didn't know him very well, but if he had to guess, he would have said Derek looked like he was feeling somewhere between shy and proud. He had no idea what to make of that reaction.

"Chain me up?" 

"Some packs do that with newly bitten members," Derek explained, "until they have control over themselves." 

"Did your parents chain you up?" Stiles asked. 

Derek shook his head. "No, they brought us here and everyone who had control watched us." 

"I like this method better," Stiles said. 

"You might want to run and hunt," Derek said, frowning. "If you try, I'll have to stop you. Any way I can." 

"Violence?" Stiles asked, wincing. 

Derek shrugged. "You'll heal." 

Stiles shrugged. "Okay. Fine. Better me than someone else. I get it." 

An uneasy silence fell over them. Stiles could hear squirrels and other small animals, an owl overhead preparing to hunt, and the wind rustling the trees' leaves. Aside from all that, he could hear Derek's heart. It didn't sound calm, like Scott's had been when they'd been out looking for Stiles' phone. Its rhythm was fast, like Derek was nervous. 

"You okay, dude?" Stiles asked. 

"Don't call me 'dude.'" 

Stiles smiled. "Sure." 

"Have you told anyone?" Derek asked, before Stiles could repeat his question. 

"That I'm about to howl at the moon?" Stiles asked in reply. He snorted when Derek nodded. "No way. Scott would think I'm joking. Or crazy. And I don't know who else he'd tell if he thinks I'm losing my mind. Probably my dad. Probably his mom. That's too many people. And Dad… well… I don't want him to get hurt." 

"He may need to know at some point," Derek said. 

Stiles shook his head. "Maybe. But not until I figure some of this stuff out," he said. He shrugged and looked up at the canopy of leaves and branches above them. "Besides, you said you were laying low, right? I don't want to draw any attention to you until you're ready." 

The way Derek goggled at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, struck Stiles with the impulse to give him a really big hug. He had no idea how little kindness or consideration Derek had in his life, for him to look so stunned by Stiles' decision to keep their connection---or Derek's confidences, in a way---to himself. 

Stiles wasn't even really all that touchy-feely, but, _maaan_ , Derek needed a hug. 

He assumed it was a part of his new werewolfiness, something that made him want to be on the same team as Derek, but he didn't shake off the impulse. It didn't clash with his human instincts. Derek had been through some heavy shit. Stiles could easily understand that. He needed a friend. Stiles could be that friend. They might never be bros, with years of history and affection between them, but Stiles could cut the guy a bit of slack and try to be there for him. 

"You don't know me, yet, but I want us to be able to trust each other," Stiles said. 

"I don't…" 

"Trust? Know what to do with that?" Stiles supplied when Derek stopped talking. 

Derek nodded. 

Stiles smiled. "Well. That's okay. You don't have to figure it all out right now." 

"But, the alpha---" 

"Yeah, we'll work on that in the meantime," Stiles interrupted. He looked around the forest. It seemed even more alive than it had when they first stopped in the clearing, if that were possible. "So. We playing tag or something?" 

"Tag?" Derek echoed. 

Stiles nodded. "Yeah. I mean… I'm kind of a spaz anyway, but I feel… twitchy. Do you feel it? Is that the moon? So. We could sit in the grass and be two twitchy wolfies---or a twitchy wolfie and a surly wolfie--- _or_ we could burn it off doing something fun. Do werewolves climb trees? Or bury chew toys? Or---" 

"How old are you? Twelve?" 

He grinned. "Sixteen. C'mon. When was the last time you had fun?" 

"A long time ago," Derek admitted. 

"No one's around," Stiles said. "I won't tell anyone if you stop brooding for a couple hours." 

"Promise?" Derek asked, in a way that Stiles couldn't tell was serious or in jest. 

Stiles nodded. "Cross my heart." 

Derek approached him slowly and steadily. Stiles didn't think he was in trouble, but the way Derek walked made him feel like he was being hunted and something about the predator-prey game made his pulse race. When he swallowed against his sudden nerves, Derek smirked and closed the gap between them in three deliberate steps. 

When he stopped moving, Derek's face shifted. 

Stiles was sure that the appropriate response should have been fear, but he'd never had an appropriate response to anything, really, so when a long, low _wow!_ was on the tip of his tongue, he let it escape. 

Derek's prominent brow ridge shifted up, away from his eyes. 

"Wow?" Derek asked. 

"You look badass!" Stiles exclaimed. "And super cool. Waaaay better than Monster Mayhem. Where do your eyebrows go? Are mine going to disappear like that? Is it an age thing? Maybe mine will just get bushier?" 

Before Derek could stop him, Stiles had his hands all over Derek's face. He smoothed his fingers over Derek's forehead, ears, and jaws before brushing his index fingers over Derek's fangs. 

"So cool!" Stiles breathed. "Will I look like that?"

"Let's find out," Derek suggested. "I'm actually surprised you haven't changed before now." 

"Well, I'm not that amazing. It was touch and go a bit after school, in detention… something happened, and I just wanted to _rawr_ , y'know?" Stiles chattered. "But, I don't think it got too far. No one saw me. Or, at least, no one ran screaming or pulled a gun on me or anything." 

"Good." 

"That's what I thought." 

Derek frowned. "Most new werewolves have a hard time with control." 

"Maybe it's just because I had an easy day," Stiles reasoned. "Or maybe it's because I haven't tapped into the wolfie parts of me yet. Or… hey, maybe I'm broken. I could be a defective wolf! Defective Wolf the Supernatural Detective! Solving crimes and trying to protect his pack!" 

"You're not broken," Derek said. 

As soon as he felt his ears warming, Stiles wanted to curse his whole entire body. Derek wasn't being particularly open or supportive, but he was there and more reassuring than Stiles expected and that mattered. 

"Thanks," Stiles mumbled. 

Derek cleared his throat. "You remember that feeling?" he asked. "When you were close to losing it? Fast pulse, tense muscles---" 

"The urge to growl," Stiles interrupted. 

With a nod, Derek took a step back and said, "Tap into that. It'll get easier." 

Stiles nodded, too, and closed his eyes. He was thinking about Mister Harris and how completely unfair he'd been in his mocking of Stiles' inability to sit still, and he was _almost_ there, but he couldn't force himself to feel the way he'd felt in the classroom. He was a teenager, he acted rashly, but he wasn't often angry for no reason. It was hard to bring up that emotion and use it the way Derek wanted him to use it. 

When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he sighed and pulled it out while looking down to catch sight of the device's screen. 

_Where R U? Party 2nite! Don't 4get!_

Stiles growled. 

And then gasped---and flailed---because the sound was so foreign to his ears. 

"What's wrong?" Derek asked. 

"Scott. He has a crush on someone and it's making him forgetful," Stiles grumbled. He put his phone back into his pocket. When he looked up at Derek, he said, "A girl in our class is having a party. He asked his new crush to be his date---and don't get me wrong, I am stoked she said 'yes,' because he's a great guy and he deserves a little loving---but she is addling his brain. Scott asked me if I'm going, too, and I told him I had other plans. I don't think he was listening, because he still thinks I'm going." 

Derek stared at him. Stiles could practically see the wheels turning in his head while his facial expression was stuck on _what-the-hell-do-I-do_. He would have laughed, but he didn't think that would be helpful to his situation. With a sense of patience he didn't think he had in his possession, Stiles remained silent and waited to see what Derek would say or do. 

After a few minutes, Derek swallowed---and pushed back his werewolf visage at the same time. 

"When it's less intense, you two will work it out," he said, his voice more quiet than it usually was. "You're close, right? Eventually he'll pull his head out of his ass and remember that." 

Stiles smiled a bit. "Thanks." 

"For now, though, use that feeling so you can shift," Derek advised. "You were almost there." 

With a nod, Stiles closed his eyes again and refocused himself. He centered on those feelings of frustration he felt towards Scott since he'd met Allison, something he hoped would be ephemeral in view of their long, strong friendship, and he let the simmering seething build up in his mind. 

He felt a sort of internal slide, a sensation he could never do justice with words, and when he opened his eyes, the world was tinted gold. 

"Good," Derek murmured. 

Stiles watched him lift his hand and bring it towards his jaw. He remained still and quiet while Derek smirked. 

"A bit of fuzz," Derek said. His finger brushed through it and the sensation travelled along every single one of Stiles' nerves. "Like a little pup." 

"Sourwolf and Little Pup," Stiles said with a smile. "We could have a comic book series together, then." 

Derek glared at him. Stiles let his smile stretch into a grin. The feeling of his fangs against his lips was going to take some time to feel normal, but any weirdness he was experiencing paled in comparison to how _alive_ he felt and how eager he was to test his new abilities in the heart of the forest. 

"Ready?" Derek asked. 

Stiles didn't realise he'd turned to look at the woods around them until Derek's voice grabbed his attention. He turned back and looked up into Derek's shifted face. 

"For what?" 

Derek poked the centre of Stiles' forehead with the pad of a clawed finger. 

"Tag. You're it," he said. 

Stiles burst out laughing as Derek turned on his heels and ran into the trees. 

"Catch me and I'll buy breakfast!" Derek shouted. 

"Oh, it's on!" Stiles called out, laughter still in his voice. 

He inhaled a long deep breath---full of the scents of the forest around him---and then he ran off in the same direction Derek had taken.

###

Stiles spent more time chasing Derek than being chased, but he used Derek's familiarity with his keen werewolf senses as his excuse for more or less winning their game of tag.

It was amazing to be able to run like that, so fast and so free, without needing to stop to catch his breath. Stiles knew he couldn't run like that during lacrosse practice---it would tip off too many people to something drastic having changed in his life---but as long as he could have nights like that one to offset having to deny himself, Stiles knew he could handle applying a small measure of restraint to his situation. 

It was also surprising that he didn't feel more animalistic than he'd expected to feel. He'd expected the day of the full moon to be unbearable; he'd expected to lose control. He'd been so sure he'd lose himself to whatever magic or virus was running through his veins since being bitten. But, that hadn't been the case. 

Derek told him he wasn't defective, but Stiles wasn't sure. He didn't feel like a bloodthirsty creature. 

But, then, Derek didn't seem too bloodthirsty, either. 

"How are you feeling?" Derek asked, shaking him from his thoughts as they walked through the trees. 

Stiles turned and smiled through his fangs. "Tired. Good. Confused." 

"Sounds like a good first full moon, then," Derek said. He nudged Stiles' shoulder with his arm. "I'm glad I decided against chaining you up for the night." 

"Why didn't you?" Stiles asked. 

"You don't seem angry." 

Stiles frowned. "Huh?" 

"Strong emotions---anger, especially---can bring the wolf to the surface, or vice versa, sort of. Animal instincts. The baser feelings we have. They feed off of each other," Derek explained. "I brought the chains out earlier. They're behind one of the trees around the clearing. But, you only seemed… antsy. Tag was a good idea. You have good instincts." 

"What? Me? But, I can't hunt or scent or---" 

"You'll learn," Derek interrupted. "Tonight feels like everything's wild, right? Like everything's on all at once?" 

Stiles nodded. "Yeah." 

"When you get used to that, you'll learn to filter and focus," Derek said. 

"I thought I was going to lose control. Go all beast mode," Stiles admitted. 

Derek sighed. "I thought that, too. It could still happen, so you should be careful, but I don't think it means anything bad." 

"You don't?" 

He shook his head. "The Adderall… you have issues with focus?" he asked. When Stiles nodded, Derek continued talking. "Might just be that you're already used to filtering… like whatever coping you do already is helping." 

"Could've gone the other way, then," Stiles said before snorting. 

"Yeah. Still could." 

"So. Um, thank you," Stiles said. 

Derek looked down at him as they walked. "For what?" 

"You didn't let me hurt anyone," Stiles said, shrugging. "I'm glad." 

Looking a bit stiff and uncomfortable again, Derek nodded. "You're welcome," he said. "When you find your anchor, you won't need the distraction of a game or challenge." 

"But, we can still play, right?" Stiles asked. "I mean, once I get a handle on these super senses, I demand a rematch." 

Derek smiled a bit. "All right." 

Stiles grinned and moved to follow Derek through a narrow gap between trees. They walked in single file for a few minutes, through thicker flora, until Derek stopped and Stiles crashed into him. 

"We gotta get you some brake li---"

"Shh!" Derek hissed. 

Stiles looked up in time to see Derek scanning the area, his blue eyes glowing in the dark. He looked more worried than he had all night; Stiles swallowed a lump of panic that had risen into his throat. The feral alpha had been far from his thoughts all night, but Monster Mayhem was suddenly in the forefront of his mind. 

"They're here," Derek whispered. "Run!"

Assuming it was the alpha, Stiles split from Derek. He ran through the bushes, sure he was making plenty of noise and not caring about it at the same time. Derek was behind him; all he had to worry about was getting away from the danger. He was sure Derek would help with the rest.

There was no roar to accompany the glimpses of red light. There was a smell in the air that made his nose itch all the way up to his sinuses. There were sounds of boots that didn't belong to Derek. 

Stiles put it together on the fly. It wasn't Monster Mayhem; it was hunters. 

_Shit._

With a burst of panicked speed, Stiles took the group deeper into the forest. If the hunters found their cars, they'd know who was out in the woods and know they could pick off Stiles and Derek when they were least expecting it. There was a chance they'd already found their cars, obviously, but Stiles didn't want to be the one to blow their cover if they hadn't already seen the vehicles. They could not go back to the ruins of Derek's childhood home. They had to go deeper into the forest. 

"Hard left!" Derek hissed.

Stiles grunted and forced himself to turn. He saw the ravine Derek meant for them to avoid, blurring past him in his peripheral vision. 

The first _whoosh!_ blew past Stiles' head when he almost tripped over a large tree stump. He saw the arrow and almost stuttered to a stop. Derek pushing him from behind was all that kept him on his feet and moving forward. 

After the second arrow, Stiles decided he preferred running games like tag to running for his life. 

The third arrow hit Stiles in the arm, mid-stride, and it pinned him to a tree before he realised he'd been struck. The impact jarred his body and mind, and it took Stiles a few seconds to process his current position; by the time he caught up and realised what was happening, Stiles had tried to tug his arm from the tree, with no luck and a lot of pain for his efforts. 

Stiles whined, high-pitched and wordless, and he tried not to piss his pants in fear as he watched three men come out of the shadows. He looked around; he couldn't see Derek anywhere. 

On the one hand, he was relieved Derek escaped. On the other hand, he was furious Derek left him to face the hunters alone. 

The group stopped approximately fifty feet in front of Stiles. The man carrying the crossbow seemed to be the leader; the other two flanked him, their weapons raised until the assumed leader brought his back to rest against his shoulder. It was no longer necessary; he'd already caught Stiles. His body language reflected that truth, too. The two behind him looked somewhere between uncertain and eager, but he looked confident and sure. A small smirk carved into his scruff-surrounded mouth; his shoulders were set and lowered; his feet were planted. 

"Take him," the man in the front of the trio said. 

Having no desire to be taken, Stiles focused on the arrow in his arm and tried tugging it free instead of trying to tug his arm free of the arrow. 

One of the men yelped and Stiles turned his attention back to the group in time to see the leader raising his crossbow as one of the sidekicks was tossed into the other. 

Derek didn't disappear!

He moved along the shadows, growling and snarling, and he pushed the lead hunter into a tree. When they were all disabled to some extent, Derek rushed forward and pulled out the arrow pinned in Stiles' arm. 

"Follow me," Derek breathed. 

Stiles nodded and hurried after him. He didn't stop until Derek stopped, even when Derek took him across a small creek; he didn't stop until Derek brought him to the mouth of a cave hidden by a growth of ferns and bushes. 

"If there's a bear in there, you're fighting it," Stiles muttered. 

Derek snorted and pulled him inside the cave. "We'll hide here for a while," he said. 

Stiles agreed with a soft noise. After running a hand over the back of his head, he said, "So… hunters." 

"Yes." 

"They didn't waste any time," Stiles commented. 

"They're here looking for the alpha and they probably think they can use us to find them," Derek said. He sighed and backed up against the wall of the cave. "Come here, let me look at your arm." 

"Oh. I… sure." 

Stiles made his way over the rocky ground, stumbling before he stopped. Derek caught him with a firm hand on his shoulder, steadying him before moving his hand to Stiles' upper arm. After tugging off Stiles' hooded sweatshirt, Derek moved Stiles' arm around, looking at it from one perspective and then another. When he poked it, he ignored Stiles' squawk of surprise as he conducted his investigation. 

And then he ignored Stiles' second squawk when he felt his werewolf visage slip away. 

"Looks like there wasn't any wolfsbane on the arrow," Derek said. "You'll live. It's already healing." 

"How does it work?" Stiles asked. "Inside-out, or outside-in?" 

"Outside-in, usually," Derek replied.

Stiles nodded and craned his neck to look at the wound. It was almost healed, a small spot of raw wound surrounded by healing skin, but it was still sore. 

"So, I'll need to be careful if I'm injured," Stiles said, thinking out loud. "If it looks healed, it might not be healed yet, under the surface." 

Derek nodded as he released Stiles' arm. "If it's a serious injury, yes. This will be completely healed soon. Maybe in an hour or less. It'll be like it never happened." 

"Cool. I mean, it still hurt, and it'll be a bitch to have to explain why I can be okay the day after a big accident, but… cool." 

"You understand," Derek said, without questioning lilt but still seeming like a question at the same time. 

"I'm piecing it together as I go," Stiles mumbled. "There's a lot of information flying at me." 

"You're doing better than I assumed you would." 

Stiles groaned. "Don't jinx me." 

With a small change in his expression that could have been the precursor to a smile, Derek said, "You'll find your anchor. That will help."

"What if I can't… figure it out?" Stiles asked. 

Derek shrugged. "Then, you lose control and hurt someone. Or get killed by hunters." 

"No pressure," Stiles grumbled. 

"Nope." 

Stiles sighed and nodded. In any other moment, he would have appreciated Derek's response and would have seen it as a glimpse of the sense of humour Derek probably still had under his layers of angst and pain. After being shot with an arrow, and having that and everything else _really_ sink into his brain's processors, Stiles was having trouble accessing his own sense of humour. He knew it would return---probably even before he returned home for the night---but he couldn't make a joke at that particular time. 

In lieu of a joke, Stiles decided to focus on the mysteries they had to solve. 

"Change of subject," he said. At Derek's raised eyebrow, he continued talking. "Do you have any idea what convinced Laura to come back here? Like details?" 

Even in the darkness, Stiles could see Derek's brows furrow. "All she said was there were signs of supernatural activity. A few strange animal kills. Something about a spiral," Derek said. 

"A spiral?" 

"Yeah. It's… in pack culture, it means revenge," Derek explained. 

"Huh. But… revenge for what?" Stiles asked. "I mean, I don't know everything that goes on around here, but I know more than most. Because of Dad. And there wasn't a lot going on in the last few years that would warrant revenge. Not since…" 

"The fire," Derek supplied. 

Stiles nodded. "That would make sense. Did anyone else get out or survive or---" 

"The only other person is my uncle. Peter. But it can't be him," Derek replied. 

"Why not?" 

Derek sighed. It took a few minutes, but eventually he spoke. "He's in a long-term care ward at the hospital," he explained. "He's catatonic. Or in a coma. Non-responsive, anyway." 

"I thought you guys could heal?" 

"We can. But, he was in the house. When he was found, he was unconscious and had burns covering most of his body. The trauma was too much for his brain, we think," Derek said, voice softening into a whisper by the end of the last sentence. 

Stiles frowned. "I'm sorry," he whispered back. 

"You say that a lot." 

With a shrug, Stiles said, "I know what it's like to lose family. Maybe not on the same scale, but I've still experienced it." 

Derek nodded and leaned his head back until it brushed the rocky cave wall. "I remember your mother," he said. "She used to come to the house. To see my mother." 

"Really?" Stiles asked. 

Derek nodded again. "Yeah. I didn't really pay attention, because I was a kid and it seemed like boring grown-up stuff. But, I remember. She came by herself, and sometimes another alpha would join them. Smelly tea. Lots of talking. Sometimes your mom would bring these cookies… Laura and I would fight for any that were left. They had cinnamon in them. The right amount of crunch and chew." 

"Huh." 

Stiles frowned. It was a whole other layer to the life of his mother. Did Claudia Stilinski know about werewolves? Had she been involved with the Hale Pack in some way? Was a proximity to werewolves what killed her? 

No, that couldn't be right. His mother's illness had been recognizable, had been natural---not supernatural. Doctors hadn't been mystified. They'd had a diagnosis and a prognosis and all that useless crap. 

"Dad never said… I never knew." 

Derek shrugged. "When things quiet down, I'll go into our vault. Maybe Mom left a clue in one of her older journals." 

Stiles smiled. "That would be really great. I mean, if there's nothing, that's cool. But… y'know?" 

"Yeah, I know," Derek agreed. 

Even though it probably wouldn't be necessary, Stiles was already planning to dig through his mother's recipes and find the cookies Derek had mentioned. He couldn't repay Derek in a werewolf-y way, at least not until he figured out what he could do, but he could bake cookies that Derek enjoyed during a happier time in his life. If Derek could add some hidden details to the portrait of Claudia that Stiles held in his mind, then Stiles could give Derek a glimpse back into his childhood.

#####

After the excitement of the full moon, Stiles spent the next two days tucked away in his family home. Derek suggested he lay low, and Stiles took the advice to heart. He had no desire to run into the hunters who may or may not have seen his face. He had no desire to lie to Scott about where he'd been Friday night.

John didn't seem to mind Stiles' decision. Since he was working more hours, in an attempt to figure out what had happened to Laura Hale (or Jane Doe, because Stiles had no idea if they'd identified her other half yet), he was barely around when Stiles was awake.

For a first full moon, Stiles supposed the day of and days after could have gone much worse than they had gone. 

Classes on Monday could have gone better. Watching Scott walk past him without looking away from Allison, who was safely tucked into Scott's side, was the first sign that the day was going to be difficult. He and Scott had been inseparable since… well, for almost as long as Stiles could remember. Stiles hadn't been looking forward to lying to Scott, and his inattention felt like punishment in advance of any lies he was preparing to tell. 

Speaking of inattention, Stiles' own mind was causing additional trouble. It had been hard enough to focus when Adderall had been in his system; without the drug and with his enhanced senses, Stiles was hitting an overloaded state of mind much more easily than he ever had before being bitten by the rogue alpha. After too many noises, too many smells, and a full day of lessons, Stiles was ready to run away to the most isolated place he could find and _never_ rejoin society ever again. 

It was a miracle he'd kept his eyes, claws, and fangs to himself. 

Walking outside after the last bell felt like the sweetest relief to his scrambled head. Stiles trotted down the stairs and down the walkway towards the grass and trees in the front of the school. With each step, he felt the pressure inside of him easing back, as if being nearer to _any_ form of nature could soothe his senses. Stiles didn't understand it---but he wasn't knocking it, either. He'd take what he could get until he figured out a bit more of his new existence. 

Stiles stopped walking and closed his eyes. 

And then he yelped when someone shoved into his back. 

"I'm sorry!" 

Stiles turned in time to catch a blonde-haired girl before she could fall onto the ground. She lifted her head and stared at him. He recognised her---it was Erica Reyes. They'd played soccer together when they were kids, until she'd stopped for health reasons; they didn't spend much time together since those days, but every once and a while they'd smile at each other. 

Erica crashing into him was _waaay_ better than a lot of the alternatives. If it had been Jackson, Stiles would be on the pavement with a bloody or bruised (or both) face. 

"Hey, no, I'm sorry," Stiles said. "I guess I kind of just stopped abruptly, huh?" 

She shrugged and nodded when Stiles helped her back onto her feet. "Thanks," she said in a quiet voice. Her lips curved a little, her smile barely visible. "Even if you are the reason I almost fell." 

Surprised, Stiles laughed. Erica's smile grew---not much, but a bit. 

"You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" Stiles asked. "You're okay?" 

She nodded. "Didn't even hit the ground. You've got good reflexes." 

"From all the nights I spend as the Caped Crusader, I guess," Stiles joked. 

Erica snorted. 

"Look, Erica, I'll have you know---" 

"Erica, honey! C'mon! We have an appointment!" 

Erica sighed as she and Stiles turned to look at the line-up of cars along the sidewalk. She waved to a woman who had to be her mother, judging by the blonde hair and pale skin. 

"I better go," Erica said quietly. 

"Don't be a stranger, okay?" Stiles asked. "We can reminisce about cleats and shin pads, or I can teach you how to glare menacingly from rooftops... or something." 

After a faint sound that might have been a laugh, Erica nodded. She patted Stiles' arm before setting off for her mother's vehicle. Stiles waved when she looked over her shoulder. She flashed him another tiny smile before disappearing inside the car. 

Stiles remained facing the street after Erica was driven away from the school. His senses were slowly coming back online---or at least, his mind was finally registering his senses again. He could smell the air and ground and asphalt and exhaust; he could hear Scott and Allison through the din of their classmates; he could feel the warm breeze against his skin. 

He adjusted his bookbag and smiled. He definitely had to figure out how to develop some sort of filter. The overload sensation was dangerous, on several levels, and Stiles didn't want to be helpless until he could step outside and breath for a few minutes. 

Struck with an impulse to ask Derek, Stiles pulled his phone out of his pocket and unlocked the screen. There were no messages to which he needed to respond---which wasn't surprising, because Stiles knew how unpopular he was and accepted that his phone would never be blowing up with too many texts and alerts---so he typed out a quick message to Derek. 

Stiles had barely pressed send to deliver _Is there a way to filter? Sounds and smells, I mean. Was dialled up to 10 all day, kind of burned out by lunch :S_ to Derek when Scott came up behind him. 

"Aaand who are you texting? Secret girlfriend?" 

Locking the device as he moved it into his pocket, Stiles turned. "Dad," he said as he smiled at Scott and Allison. "Just wanted to check to see if he was game for tacos tonight." 

Scott rubbed his belly with his free hand. "Mmm… tacos." 

"Yep. The Stilinskis eat like kings," Stiles said. Allison smiled at him. "How was your day?" he asked. 

"Survivable, for a Monday," Allison replied. 

"Barely," Scott chimed in with his own opinion. He nudged Stiles' foot with his own. "Where were you this morning? I didn't see you in English." 

"Uh, buddy? I was sitting to your left." 

Scott frowned. "Oh. Really? Sorry." 

"No worries," Stiles said. He shrugged. "I brought my invisibility cloak in to test it. Seems to be working." 

While Scott blinked at him, confusedly, Allison seemed to at least get the reference. 

"They're very rare," she said. 

Stiles grinned. "I'm a very rare sort of wizard." 

"What are you two talking about?" Scott asked. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Oh my god, watch a movie, would you?" he asked, making Allison laugh softly. 

The sharp scent of… _burning_ flooded his nose so fast that Stiles started to cover his face with his hand---and then realised at the last second that he couldn't unless he was willing to explain his action---and managed to abort the effort with a sort of ridiculous hand wave before pushing his hand to the back of his head for a quick scratch. 

He focused on Scott in time to catch the sight of him releasing his clenched jaw. 

_Huh._ Was that burning smell Scott's anger? Was Scott angry? _Why_ was Scott angry?

Stiles pushed those questions aside when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Curious to see if Derek had an answer for him, he pulled out his device and looked at the screen. 

_Yes. I have to figure out a way to teach you, but I will. We should start training anyway._

With a little smile, Stiles unlocked the phone and typed out a quick response: _Coool. Let me know when and where when you know._

The scent of burning returned to his nose. He glanced up to see Scott trying to look at his phone's screen. When Scott realised he was caught, he smiled a little. 

"Taco night a go?" he asked. 

Stiles nodded. "Looks like it. What are you guys up to tonight?" 

"Homework," Allison replied. She nudged Scott's side gently before gesturing out to the sidewalk. "My dad's here. Call you later?" 

With a dopey smile and a burst of that weird and overly-sweet scent Stiles had (unfortunately) learned was tied to Scott's lustier biochemical reactions, Scott nodded. 

They were still waving and making heart eyes at each other when Stiles turned around and looked to where Allison was walking. 

If anyone could have heard his pulse, they would have heard it stutter---repeatedly. 

The leader of the hunters was standing next to a sport-utility vehicle, grinning as Allison approached him. 

_The leader of the hunters was Allison's dad._

Stiles swallowed the curse he wanted to shout into the sky. He hoped he didn't look too unsettled, but he knew something of his thoughts had to be visible to anyone who was paying attention. He waved when Allison waved---though much less exuberantly than Scott did---and he remained staring out at the road long after Allison and her _hunter_ -father drove away from the school. 

Scott was dating the daughter of the person who shot him with an arrow. 

_Wonderful._

"---and then, Jackson slammed me into a locker and was all 'where are you getting your drugs?' and being really aggressive, like he didn't believe me when I said I was training on my own more. When I told him about the herbal tea I was drinking, he nearly punched me!" 

It took a few minutes to realise that Scott was talking, apparently recounting his dramatic encounters of the day. 

"That asshole," Stiles muttered. 

"I know! Allison and Lydia were nearby, though, and it may have been a ding to my manhood to just stand there and take it, but Allison said later that she was glad I didn't sink to his level, so I think it all went okay." 

Stiles closed his eyes and forced himself to take a slow breath, in and out, in an attempt to calm his erratic pulse and twisting stomach. Fearing that his claws would make an appearance, he jammed his hands into his sweater's pockets. 

"Do you think it went okay?" Scott asked. 

"If she said that, then, yeah," Stiles replied, not looking at Scott. "I don't know her as well as you do, obviously, but she seems like a good person? I guess? So, she probably wouldn't say that and not mean it." 

It took a few moments, but Scott eventually said, "Yeah… yeah. You're probably right. Thanks, Stiles." 

Behind his closed eyes, all the scenarios his imagination could conjure were just _there_ and Stiles had no idea how to make them stop. His worry was hitting panic-attack levels and he didn't know what would happen if he had a panic attack after becoming a full-on werewolf. 

"I… I gotta… you're welcome," Stiles said, fumbling through his words. "I gotta go. See you later, Scottie." 

Scott tried to stop him, but Stiles was on a mission. He had to get to his car, lock the doors, and drive somewhere isolated before he either had a heart attack or started to shift. Not the safest plan, but it was all he had. 

He managed to get a few blocks from the school before he pulled over to the side of the road and fumbled for his phone. 

_"Hello?"_ Derek said in his ear. _"Stiles? What's wrong?"_

Stiles sucked in a sharp, deep breath, and forced himself to exhale slowly. When he finished, he said, "Allison's dad is the hunter who shot me. And Allison is the girl Scott's been all gah-gah over." 

_"I didn't know Chris Argent had a daughter."_

"Well, I didn't know Allison had a frickin' hunter for a dad!" Stiles shot back. "But, there he was, parked and waiting to pick her up after school all smiles like he didn't spend the weekend sharpening his already very pointy arrowheads and dreaming of a rematch!" 

Derek huffed quietly in his ear. 

A stray thought crossed his mind and he groaned. "Oh. My. God. _Argent_. Like French, for silver. Are they how the silver bullet myth---" 

_"Yeah."_

"Wow. Wonderful. I… I should probably… be careful?"

_"Please. I don't know how young they start training their kids."_

"Awesome."

_"You okay?"_

Stiles frowned and thought about the question. He didn't think Derek really wanted an answer, but there was no one else in his life with whom he could talk about the mess his life had become. 

"I'm freaking out," Stiles admitted. "I thought I was going to have a panic attack or shift or both. I ran away from Scott." 

_"Find your anchor,"_ Derek said. 

Stiles frowned. "And then I'm fixed?" 

Derek sighed. _"No, but it will help."_

"Yeah. Okay," Stiles muttered. 

_"And stay away from Allison,"_ Derek added. _"If she finds out about you, she'll tell her father, and then---"_

"Arrows fly." 

_"For starters, yes,"_ Derek said. 

"Yeah, okay," Stiles mumbled. 

_"Go for a jog, clear your head,"_ Derek advised. _"Stay out of the woods for now. And pay attention to your surroundings."_

Stiles nodded even though Derek couldn't see the gesture. "Yeah, okay," he replied. "You'll call if you figure out a way to teach me stuff?" he asked. 

_"I will."_

Derek ended the call before Stiles could think of anything else to say. 

He exhaled a long, slow breath. As he stared out, through the windshield, he realised that avoiding Allison would be difficult. She was at least sort of dating his best friend. While Scott wasn't the most attentive, lately, he would notice if Stiles made himself scarce every time Scott wanted them to hang out together. Scott wasn't the most academically inclined person, but he wasn't an idiot. He would see a pattern in Stiles' behavior if Stiles wasn't careful. 

The whole being turned into a werewolf was making his life complicated on several levels---and, with hunters and rogue alphas on the loose, Stiles suspected it would get much, _much_ worse before it took a turn for the better.


End file.
